The cocoon of the butterfly remains the one thing that reflects the soul that once resided there. A story about the price of destiny, perfection, and image. This is not an AU and contains spoilers. One-shot vignette. (Sister piece pending write)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon since I did not create the characters. But I did, however, write this story. So credits go to where it is due.

WARNING: If you plagerize my stuff, I will hunt you down! If you think you can get away with it, think again. Both quotes at the beginning and end are mine, don't use them without permission. Thank you and enjoy!

"A butterfly emerges from a cocoon and is instantly beautiful. Other insects and animals, and man even, forget that once it was an ugly thing that crawled upon earth and dirt, dreaming of flight but unable to attain it. I think that all butterflies are really, still caterpillars on the inside. The darkness, the ugliness, the emptiness, and the poisonous insides remains. It's all still there, only no one can see it so clearly anymore, because they are bedazzled by the butterflies beautiful wings. No one becomes beautiful overnight by breaking out of the outer shell they create for themselves, there is just another more intricate shell underneath, and an insect cannot fight off that mask that is born within us all, no more than a man can. The mask, after all, is who we are, as is the emptiness beneath it."

-- Kaiou Michiru

Cocoon of the Butterfly * * * * * * * * * * * *

. blue . ( blueweber@hotmail.com )

Once, there had been a violin case that she had seen when she was very young and had thought to be very beautiful. It had a smooth varnish and was a rich rosy-color. It had sat on the display window, where some store clerk must have forgotten to prop it open. And she had stood before the case, wondering, what kind of beauty must lie inside it. There were black thorns crawling up the mahogany sides, and though she had always like simplicity, the intricate and delicate design had intrigued her.

Father found her at the store window and looked to see her staring so intently at the violin case, mistaking her fascination for interest. And that was how her lessons begin really, her intrigue with a case. He didn't hesitate to buy it for her, and that was the one outing she could remember clearly to have ever had with her father.

He had been a very busy man, and her mother was never around. And having fallen in love with a case, she got a violin to go with it. She didn't protest, for she hardly ever had anything denied of her. The teachers soon found that she had an almost unnatural talent with the bow, but on her free time, she'd set aside the wooden instrument that others applauded and praised her for playing beneath her graceful fingers, and would, instead, stoop and stare at the case.

It had dark blue velvet lining on the inside that was soft and cool to the touch. There were deep, white scratches on the back where mother's cat had dragged its claws across it. When she had found the beast in the middle of the act, she had been enraged -- one of the few times she had ever lost her composer, even then -- and had kicked it. She gotten in trouble for that, of course, and for one of the few times in her life, her father had spoke to her in a disapproving manner.

"That's not a way for a lady to act," he told her.

And having been the obedient daughter she was, she acted her regret quite well. Not her first acting job, but one of her best at that age if she ever thought back to that time. "I'm sorry Father, it won't happen again," she told him through her tears. It was very fake from her perspective, but her father and mother bought it, though mother had been a bit reluctant.

Mother always did like that cat better than her, but she didn't care. She didn't need Mother. The woman was always out and about on parties and socials, luncheons with friends and operas with father's business associates. Mother was the perfect wife, from the perspective of a businessman's wife, at least. Mother didn't care much about her -- the daughter -- since she had always been quiet, elegant, and quite adored by the public.

She was the perfect child who needed little maintenance. So who was her mother to say... fix what wasn't broken? She had even attended many of the socials with her mother, and stood quite gracefully under the puffing and prodding of rich, fat women who would fawn over her incessantly.

"Oh, what a lovely child, Hanoko-san," they would say. "How did you manage such a perfect little daughter? Mine won't stop crying and acting bratty. I'm so glad I have a nanny so that I didn't have to deal with that thing!... Oh, but look at your daughter, she isn't a problem at all!" And her mother would laugh and shrug her elegant shoulders while the curl of her blonde hair gleamed like exotic gold in the dark-haired society they lived in; she was like a white-plum blossoming on a red-plum branch and Mother enjoyed the spotlight as much as vanity would allow without seeming it. But then again, when such questions were asked of Mother, the other could only shrug and say something along the lines of, "My daughter is a perfect little angel, bless the Lord!" After all, Mother had nothing to do with her once the parties were over and the fat, rich women left.

Mother had men too, lovers. But she never really cared. She played her violin and guarded her fascinating case. One day she came home from school and found that her music teacher was holding a bunch of papers in one hand and when he bent to her, he said in a very soft tone that he always used when instructing her play. "Michiru-san," he called to her. It might have been strange for any other child to be treated with so much respect, but everyone was overly polite with her even though she was the young one. She never thought about it because that was how everyone always addressed her, treated her, and she had come to expect it. She would have been more startled if someone addressed her with the usual '-chan' and if once it had been used, she could not remember it. "There is a concert at that opera house that Kaiou-san, your mother, visits," he seemed a bit nervous, but then the man always did. She only looked up at him expectantly with a silent and unnervingly calm.

"You want me to play there, don't you?" He blinked down at her before nodding somewhat sheepishly.

"Only if you want to Michiru-san," he told her. But she knew that it really wasn't her choice at all. If Mother had already heard this, it was sealed. They had a reputation to keep up and her, the prodigy child, had to show for it sooner or later. It was just as she had suspect anyway, by the way her teacher had been anxiously pressing her to play harder pieces when she knew that many older students weren't allowed to go near such difficult pieces by long dead composers.

"Have you spoken to my mother yet?" She asked instead and when he nodded in that same nervous manner, she gave him her mother's shrug. "Then I'm sure everything's prepared." She set down her violin case delicately then, taking off her shoes with the same smooth motions before entering the hall. "I'm home," she announced, somewhat belatedly as the maid hurried over from her corner by the wall and took her little mistress's school bag and jacket.

It would be her first concert, and she had practice to begin.

Without objections, she followed her teacher into the foyer, with her scratched violin case.

* * *

She was a popular girl in school, not at all social but much envied and much admired. She was untouchable and didn't feel like talking to anyone since no one in particular caught her interest. At ten, she held her first concert and was playing regularly on stage by the age of thirteen. She wasn't shy, far from it. She felt most comfortable on a stage, actually, and even with a million eyes on her, judging her every movement, she would have shrugged off any insecurities with a familiar, graceful roll of her slender shoulders. She became the music she played, but in her mind, she always saw the violin case with the black thorns going up the sides, and the deep, white scratchs on its back.

Maybe if she thought hard on it, she might have noted some significance in always using the case as her inspiration, but she never did for that was how things always had been. Nothing changed in her life and so she didn't question those constants that were there. Still, the stage, the theater, it was the best place in the whole world for her. After all, it was the one place people lied and pretended for a profession, and there, she didn't feel so out of place as she did in the real world.

By the time she was fourteen, she had made a name for herself. People whispered and pointed at her whenever she walked down the street. Young and old, men and women, all of them would sometimes stop her and ask for her autograph. For a while, her life was even hounded by the media, the press. There were socials she had to attend in her honor, parties to travel through, people to meet. And she smiled and said all the right things when she was expected to and remained silent much of the other times. She got love letters by the hoards from boys -- and sometimes even girls -- who didn't know the difference between admiration and love, and she kindly declined dates from anyone unless father and mother wanted her to go on one for business or political agendas of their own.

She didn't care for any of those things though, and when asked what she wanted to do with her future, she'd give the same elegant shrug she had seen her mother give when she was younger and would say whatever it was that peopled wanted to and expected to hear. What was expected of her, she did and she did it well, if not perfectly.

She went through the motions of her life, and thought of herself somewhat ordinary when she had time to sit down and read, do her homework and study for her exams. She was a perfect student, just like everything else in her life. She didn't like gym very much, but was a surprisingly strong swimmer, but most people never knew that. The only difference that she could see for herself was when she was out of her classes. Unlike girls her age she was in the concert halls instead of the mall, she spent more of her time practicing with private violin tutors at home instead of spending time at a friend's house -- not that she had any of those. At fifteen, she was a positive workaholic and was starting to get tired of the public life. It bored her, though it had never really interested her to begin with, it was becoming a burden that she no longer wished to carry and she had long ago stopped playing for the pleasure of it as it had become more of a duty to an image that she had lived with throughout her younger years. And for the first time in her life, she actually did something that wasn't expected of her, that wasn't asked of her to do. For the first time, she gave up on something.

She didn't want to play anymore.

"Mother, I'm getting bored with playing the violin," she told the older woman who wasn't so radiant as the other had been a decade ago but had yet fade. "I want to quit."

Mother just looked at her and told her, "Talk to your father," and dismissed her out of hand like she had been any other employee in the building. She wasn't surprised, but somehow, for one reason or another, it bothered her more than it should have or ever did. But she didn't say anything because it wasn't something in her life that had changed, but somewhere along the lines, she did, without knowing it had happened.

So she went to her father, though she had to call his secretary first. It was perhaps awkward for the other woman, from the catch of the other's breath when she announced who she was, she knew. Father was having an affair, again. And the unimaginativeness of having it with his secretary left her feeling somewhat empty and disappointed, if not a bit disgusted. The feeling was also somewhat a surprise since she had never cared before about what went on in his life anymore than he had about hers. "I don't want to play violin anymore, Father," she addressed him formally over the phone with the same soft voice she had used since she was a child.

"This isn't the time, Michiru, we'll talk about it over dinner." Apparently, he did care after all, but she knew it was more about the image it would portray of their family than anything else that had dealings with her.

But dinner was held off because of his business meeting and she had to wait for that to be rescheduled by his secretary again. This time the woman was nervous when she spoke to her on the phone, but there was also the same, impersonal, cool professionalism in that voice to mask the nervousness. But she wasn't fooled, she had been dealing with people like her father's secretary her whole life, and there was very little that these uninteresting people could hide from her.

So instead of having dinner with her father, she ate a silent one with her mother. Over dessert, the other rested her elbows on the table and leaned on those long, elegant fingers while studying her. "Why don't you try something new, Michiru? But don't give up the violin." The last part wasn't really an added suggestion, more of a command from her impersonal mother.

"What do you have in mind, Mother?" she asked politely instead in the same manner her mother had previously used to ask her the question.

"Perhaps painting, or sketching," her mother replied with a wave of her hand before gracefully rising from the oak-colored chairs with white, soft cushions and lining. "Something else to distract you. I've noticed that you've been spending some time at the art museum."

It was one of the few times she was ever truly startled. She never thought that her mother noticed anything in her change of habit, "Maybe you're right," she complied as she too rose, bowing to her mother in respect and thanks before asking to be excused.

That night, she called her father and told him that she changed her mind and that she wasn't quitting violin after all. She must have interrupted something because he had sounded somewhat agitated when he answered but she didn't care and neither did he after he heard what she had to say. "Good," he sounded almost relieved, and it was no surprise to her that their dinner was officially cancelled after her good news.

Life went back to the way it had always been; her, the prodigy daughter, perfect in every way, found something else to distract herself from her discontent. And her parents stayed out of her life, like they always did. After all, perfection wasn't very lovable and perfection doesn't need to be fixed.

* * *

She heard the name "Ten'ou Haruka," several times before first meeting the girl, through rumors, gossips, and widespread adoration in the country clubs she frequented most often, and the social circles she was so frequently separated from. People wouldn't stop talking about this wild, young rogue, and though she was far from being interested in gossip, the name did leave a mark in her memories.

She was always polite and graceful when she did join into their conversations, her movements flowed like water and her eyes sparkled in that beautiful way that others found mesmirizing. People used to tell her, when she was young, that she must have gotten those eyes from her mother, but it was a compliment that was quite obviously a lie. Her mother did not have the aqua depth that she possessed, for she must have inherited from some past great-grandmother, instead, Mother had the true blue of an american woman. Her own hair was certainly another attraction, the color was more alien than even her mother's, and people had often whispered behind their hands on whether or not it was dyed, but was too intimidated by her perfection to ask.

However, this "Ten'ou Haruka" was popular enough to even travel to her ears though the other wasn't a part of any country clubs she visited and she wasn't particularly interested enough to find out more. All she knew was that Ten'ou Haruka was a rumored playboy, a rising and talented racer, and was as far from ordinary as what many people probably considered her to be. At first, she had wondered what the other looked like, but then her life was too busy to dwell on insubstantial things as a play-boy's looks, and so she soon forgot about it when her upcoming concert occupied her mind, as did her painting projects.

However, on a luncheon date that was set up between her parents and her date's parents, she found herself on the racetracks known as "The Circuit" by those who were there often. She wasn't very familiar with the place, but the boy across from her was quite excited, saying how the test-driver was Ten'ou Haruka, the much talked about and youngest test-driver there ever was. Apparently the racer was having his "debut" that day on the tracks. Intrigued, she let her date point out the person he spoke of so admirably and saw a beautiful blond boy, arrogantly stepping out of a fast-looking car, far down the race tracks below them.

The first thought in her head was, what would it be like to ride in that car with Ten'ou Haruka? And from then on, she was a closest Ten'ou Haruka junkie, as the saying went. It was, as she looked back, one of the few things she had ever really done that could relate her to a normal girl. Never though, did she dream she would ever have the chance to get close to the wild-haired racer. They were from two different worlds and two different social groups. There were very little activities that could even begin to connect their lives together. But from that day onwards, the dreams began.

All of it changed however, quite unexpectedly, when she went early to the concert hall she now frequented, though she sometimes did return to her mother's opera house for the sake of appearances. It was the end of one concert by some new, hotshot piano player that had drawn quite a crowd. The manager was quite pleased with himself, though he didn't really approve of the audience. But tickets were tickets, and a sell-out was always welcome.

"Good evening, Michiru-san," he greeted her with that same pleased smile on his face.

"Good evening, Hiroshima-san," she replied with that same beautiful way she always had about her. "I've heard you sold out for this concert," she commented as she hefted the fashionably expensive bag on her young shoulder. "Whoever attracted such a crowd? You must be quite pleased, you do have an eye for talent."

Pleased all the more by the complement, the manager though, did have enough grace to not attempt to deny it. Instead, he bowed before going on as if she had said nothing unusual. "Oh, you've not heard?" the manager asked surprised, "It's that rising racer, Ten'ou Haruka," he told her, missing the slight widening of her beautiful eyes as she felt her pulse jump at the mention of the race-driver's name. "He seemed to have a penchant for piano's, and I was thoroughly impressed by his playing at the audition."

"Audition?" she inquired as she slipped off her sunglasses and tucked it into its leather container. It was almost unheard of that Hiroshima would give his time of day for an audition; it was not something that happened very often at all.

"He requested one when he was refused the stage, but Ten'ou-san is quite stubborn, you see? In the end, we were all quite surprised by his skill." The manager answered with that same pleasant smile.

"How much longer till it's over, Hiroshima-san?" She inquired.

"Oh, another twenty minutes, I'd say, Michiru-san, and then you'll have the hall to yourself till eight this evening. You know, Ayanami-san is playing tonight? If you wish to stay for that as well, it would be more than pleasing." She acted interested, though regretful for she really didn't care to hear it. Ayanami was good, but there were many people who were equally good, and there were nothing particularly spectacular in the man's playing.

"I can't, the concert has me quite busy." The manager didn't push her, though if she had showed it would have been good advertisement on his part. Still, it wasn't very wise to push one's favorite, and most frequent, musician. "I'll go in and see this surprise of yours, Hiroshima-san," she gave him an equally pleasant smile as she turned to leave and he agreed with a kind wave of his hand before turning back to one of the workers that was ambling up to him quietly during their conversation.

She was, however, quite surprised when she slipped back stage and the clear, crisp sound of piano notes came to her as if a spring breeze had washed over the entire theater. She was quite surprised indeed, and understood immediately why the manager let this be an exception to his exclusive theater. Whereas some came in by money, others came in by extraordinary talent. Michiru was no exception to the money part, but she never had to pay her way in, for her talent far out-weighed the depth of her parents' pockets. And where as many compared her playing to an ocean of feelings, struggling like tides that a washed the sands; Ten'ou Haruka's playing was like the wind. Wind that was crisp and clear, sometimes sharp and cutting, while other times gentle and soothing.

Intrigued she stood in the shadows by the curtains and watched him play, but for some reason, she knew immediately that he wasn't really a man, but a woman with a loose-collared shirt and black slacks. She didn't know how she knew, albeit, she could tell why many were fooled. "Ten'ou Haruka?" She tapped her finger to her chin with an air of curiosity about her that was hardly ever perceived. She traced each line of the other's lean back with the eyes of an artist and could not deny that she found this woman-in-disguise, well at least her back, to be quite beautiful and attractive. The music was enchanting and she felt swept away. Ten'ou Haruka played the piano like she did everything else, and the freedom of those slim fingers, racing over the white keys, were hypnotizing to watch. When it ended, she realized that her heart had been beating unnaturally quickly within her chest, as if she had been running along side the other. The last part captured a moment in her memory when Ten'ou Haruka had tousled her short hair so carelessly in the bright, burning stage-light, a roguish and carefree act that reflected the other almost perfectly.

A million memories came thereafter, each different and poignantly sweet, before her mind's eyes. The echo of the music she had heard drifted into her ears, through her nose, and melted onto her skin untill she wasn't sure from which lifetime she was listening to. But this piece was so utterly Ten'ou Haruka, the blonde before her, that she was sure that any moment now, the other would burst into music and wind before disappearing to some mystical place untouched and unknown to mortal man. Those long, sleek fingers, running over the achingly white keys... she wondered what would it be like to be that much closer, to feel those fingers wrap around her. Maybe years, and millennia ago, there was something that bounded them beyond promises and duty, tying the knot till this moment came over and over again. Her meeting Ten'ou Haruka in the shadows, always watching.

Then, the shocking pause was over.

The thunderous applause and the milling workers that suddenly sprung into action back-stage brought her back to the present. And she saw the side profile of the beautiful piano player when she had rose from her seat to bow at her adoring audience. After having much admired the other's back, and from afar, she noted with some reservation that those blue eyes and noble nose was equally pleasing to the eye. It did leave her somewhat weary of the feelings she had never felt before, much less accustomed to, and was strangely relieved and disappointed at the same time when the blonde exited the stage in the other direction.

She almost found herself taking a step in that similar direction, as if to follow, before she stopped herself at such a foolish act. Ten'ou Haruka had captured her attention, and suddenly she ached with a deep, knowing ache of what she, ironically, knew not of. So, instead, she took out her sketchpad and sat down in the corner of the stage, drawing that beautiful back and that equally beautiful side profile. When she was done, the theater was empty except for the workers that were used to her presence.

"Good afternoon, Michiru-san," came greetings all over and it took her awhile before she realized that people were talking to her. But by then she was done with her art and apologetically greeted everyone, as she was wont to do.

That evening, when she practiced, she realized that there was something fundamentally lacking in her song. And for the first time in her life, she was dissatisfied with the music she created. She tried to clear her mind, but always the image of golden, tousled hair and arrogant blue eyes came to replace the black thorns and the deep, white scars of her violin case.

It was, she noted with dark-humor, all of a sudden a challenge to play the violin that day, a challenge she had never before encountered in her life. And though others thought she had practiced and played beautifully, more so than ever before (as some of the workers later told her) she was still very critical of her own playing. Dissatisfaction was also not a feeling she was used to, especially not so poignantly. Almost, she thought herself a caged bird, singing for the first time after hearing what the real song that had been song on the outside world was like.

But that type of freedom, she had never experienced.

Days later, when she finally got it right, she realized with a start that she could no longer picture her case in her mind. Instead, it was those blue eyes, arrogantly shining with a bright light of a soul free and spirited that had easily replaced the darkness behind the privacy of her own mind. If she focused enough, she would even remember the bump on that noble nose and the twist of those sensuous lips. The feelings she felt puzzled her, and had she had time, she might have dwelt on it enough to find the reason behind what was to happen. But life, as it is, had a way of getting past the best of us with surprises that wasn't given the time to be discovered.

* * *

As she had later heard, from Tsukino Usagi, she had never had the convenience of a talking animal guardian to show her the way things worked. It came quite unpleasantly, really, through a series of vivid dreams that left her terrified upon waking. Oh, she had dreams before, dreams of Ten'ou Haruka, of castles in the sky, of a woman-goddess dressed in white with silver hair, she had dreams of life-times ago and planets away, of empires rising and falling to ashes. But this was different, this was of the Earth, about the present times... or at least, about the approaching future.

A couple of nights came and went in the same manner, and she dreamt of darkness and destruction, of a woman who brought with her black-red despair. The world was broken and torn in her eyes, red and angry, black and helpless. People were dying before her very eyes and there, a shadow sat and consumed and consumed... She always felt helpless in those dreams, and no matter how much she screamed and cried and tried to fight, she remained helpless. Getting sick of it all, for the feelings followed her to the waking world, she asked her mother for a few self-defense courses to occupy her time, boast her confidence, and relieve the stress she was beginning to feel building around her. She was agile and adapt, and just like painting, playing the violin, swimming, and school, she excelled quickly and easily in the classes. It was, as if her body was awakening to realizations and memories of a long ago training that her mind never remembered going through. Yet, somehow, the techniques and the movements were still instilled into her muscles, even after all the years passed.

School exams, and homework might have been a bother before, but suddenly she was glad of the distraction. She did everything so that she didn't have to sleep, but others soon took notice of her tiredness because it took a toll on her body. Her mother sent her to a recommended shrink, but she didn't want to talk about the "End of the World", as she had come to call it, to anyone. It didn't feel right to open her dreams up to anyone, as if she was supposed to keep the secret of doom and destruction to herself, always. Logially, she knew quite well how others would interpret her dreams and felt less inclined to deal with the hassle that the blnd truth would bring.

So she found release in her paintings that became as black and red as her dreams. She played her violin with more of a passion than she ever did, and her teachers told her that there was nothing else they could teach her in the strings that she had not already discovered for herself. She fought in the gyms with hired trainers, strengthening herself physically and preparing for... something, but what? She could not say for certain. She went to concerts, hosted her first painting exhibition. She decided that she liked art much and then hosted a few more after the first one became a great success. Yet nothing, in the end, really seemed to have help her dreams get any brighter. Only in the waking hours were she able to escape the horrors that haunted her night after night. If she were lucky, she would sometimes dream of Ten'ou Haruka instead, and the lifetimes gone already, instead of the black and red of death and blood that was fast approaching in the future.

One night, after a particularly bad episode, she woke to find a strange woman in her room. The other had red eyes, like the red in her dreams, like what others would say to be the color of a demon's eyes. "I know you," was the first word out of her mouth once she realized the other's presence, once she saw the soft moonlight reflecting on those dark, red eyes that she had seen a few times in her own dreams.

"Yes," the woman replied, "you do."

"Is the time coming?" And she didn't know what she was talking about when those words left her mouth, but the woman seemed to.

"Yes."

"What am I supposed to do?" She asked. There was no crack in her voice, no desperation, no fear, just a simple question that she asked with the same elegant grace she had since childhood. On the inside though, as she realized, she felt exhaustion and relief flowing over her like a blanket. Maybe she should have been scared that a strange woman had gotten into her room so easily and calmly, maybe she should have been surprised, but she wasn't because it had felt as if it were but a touch of destiny; as if it were another something that she had been doing all of her life.

There was a pretty, glowing stick in the other's white-gloved hand, and she looked surprised at having noticed that the strange woman did indeed wear gloves and held a tall, gleaming staff as well in her other hand. "You are Sailor Senshi Neptune, you will know your own destiny soon enough."

After that night, it didn't take very long for a daihmon to appear. At a nearby cafe, Sailor Neptune made her first elegant appearance. She never fought anything like it, and it took a blow to the shoulder that nearly broke her arm to make her remember the words of her powerful attack. It came naturally after that, like fighting, the magick flowing into her life and filling spaces that she never knew was missing till that point in time. If she did, she had successfully ignored those emptiness quite effectively. But she didn't have the luxury of a royal cat to tell her what to do. If anyone knew that most of the time, she didn't have a clue what she was doing nor what she was getting herself into, they wouldn't have believed it if they had seen her in battle.

She was glad she didn't have to explain to her parents, who were never there, where she had gotten the new bruises that she sported every other day. And if she had more attentive parents, they would have noted that she was apt to disappear a lot more often then usual. But they weren't around much to notice in the first place, and she later wrote off any would be suspicions with excuses of park-outings and painting if ever any of the servants asked. She was glad, at least, that she took up another hobby that wasn't as public as her violin playing. However, after one thoroughly vicious attack that left her ankle broken, she decided that it was time to move out of the house. Sooner or later her parents were going to find out, or someone was going to point it out to them, if she stayed home. And so, at the age of sixteen, Kaiou Michiru asked and was allowed by her parents to rent an uptown apartment of her own. She moved out in a few days, after having had the furniture moved, and her secret life became all the easier to live without half the sneaking around that she had found herself doing for the last month or so of her life.

It caused a small fiasco, as expected, but quickly died down. People with too much time on their hands speculated that she had a falling out with her mother and father. She assured her fans publicly that nothing had happened, though the press was inclined to disagree. It was, however, a blessing in discuise for she used it to transfer schools, a matter of convenience on her part. She moved completely into the city then and left everything behind without even one regretful, backward glance at what she left behind. She just wasn't the type of person for regrets, and there was nothing especially precious that she didn't, or couldn't, take with her.

In her new apartment, or "studio" as she liked to call it, she settled in quite nicely with her old, wooden, violin case with black thorns down its side and white scratches down the back. She had a piano that her mother thought was essential in any elegant home belonging to the rich, and it was next to it that her violin hanged. She didn't object to the extra instrument since it felt right in the foyer, though her reasons were entirely different from her mother's. It reminded her of Ten'ou Haruka, and the afternoon at the concert hall when she had first heard the other play so beautifully.

She was left quite breathless with memories and emotions she couldn't remember experiencing until that moment, and she wanted to capture it any way she could. For some reason, she had a feeling that the other would have liked this particular baby-grand, though she never even met the woman, formally or informally.

The apartment also made healing injuries from battles far easier, and she had no one to explain of her whereabouts to any more. She called home on the weekends ever Saturday at precisely six o'clock to inform her parents that she was all right. She called them sparsely in between the times and them to her. If there were an exceptionally important social that she should be attending with them or go in their place, she quietly went without complaint.

It was, in the end, not that much different from before. Though, she did adamantly refused any maids or butlers at her apartment much to her mother's dismay.

The nightmares though, continued and increasingly got worse. Days after her move, when the nightmares became more of an expected routine that was unpleasant but unavoidable, the woman with red demon-eyes came again to visit her when she had awokened. "You've been doing remarkably well, fighting evil," she heard the woman say when she blinked the terrifying visions out of her sleepy eyes.

"Thank you," she said properly, her voice husky from sleep. Somehow she had a feeling that the woman wasn't inclined to compliment unless the other was thoroughly impressed and truly meant it.

The woman watched her, "The dreams, are they becoming more vivid?"

Somehow, it did not surprise her that the other had asked, "Nightmares more like it, and yes, they are becoming... well, more detailed." She had a feeling, these days, in her nightmares, that there was someone beside her.

"This does not bode well," the woman murmured, more to herself than her. "But alas, I have good news. You are not alone in your fight, for there is another Sailor Senshi out there." She did not feel the need to ask for she knew the other would answer nonetheless, so she inclined to raise a brow in the darkness in inquiry. "Her name is Ten'ou Haruka, and she is Sailor Senshi Uranus."

She was glad of the darkness then, for she was so surprised that had she not already been sitting on the bed she might have fallen. "Ten'ou... Haruka?" She murmured that name almost reverently and her body trembled with so fierce a joy that she was almost ashamed by it. She was unused to the overflowing emotion that seem to come only when Ten'ou Haruka was mentioned or near, a foreign feeling that only the blonde could obtain out of her. It was addictive and frighteningly so, but she enjoyed it for the same reason she feared it. It was the only time that she felt truly alive, the only time she felt as if she was waking from that place between slumber and wakefulness, a feeling she had found escaping her completely in these days of magick and secrets. The feeling inside made her aware, almost unbearably aware, of that something that was fundamentally missing in her life that she knew that this Ten'ou Haruka, this woman that haunted her day and night, could fill. But with what? Would a ride in the sleek, yellow Convertable really solve anything, other than bring a silly, girlish fantasy into reality?

"Yes," the woman replied, cutting through her thoughts, almost as if she was answering the question that she did not dare to voice aloud. And there was a hint of something in the other's voice that was akin to amusement. "You're partner," and she felt as if the woman had deliberately left things unsaid but did not ask for more than what she felt the other would be willing give.

In the darkness, all she could see was those blue, arrogant eyes. Eyes that spoke of a freedom that she had never experienced, and such honesty that she only wished she could obtain. "Thank you," and this time her voice was husky for a different reason.

"You never asked me who I am," the woman with eyes of ruby red finally answered after much silence.

She shook her head slowly as if to clear it before the words left her mouth. The certainty in them did not surprise her, for it came to her as naturally as water, "You are Sailor Senshi Pluto," she told the other calmly. "What else is there to know?"

Perhaps, she wasn't the only one who was unused to surprises, for the demon-eyed woman looked to her so hard, she could almost feel the others gaze piercing through the darkness and into her very soul. "What else is there to know, indeed," the woman finally said in that mysterious, yet familiar way, and then promptly disappeared into the darkness and the shadows from whence the other had came. She didn't even need to call out to make sure that Sailor Senshi Pluto had gone, or if the other had returned to wherever the woman had came from, she just knew it to be so. She knew it like she knew that when she finally meet Ten'ou Haruka face-to-face, everything will be changed forever, for both of them.

After all, the ocean forgets nothing.

* * *

It would be a lie to say that she hadn't been watching the blonde from afar for sometime. She found herself on the sidelines, in the shadows, as long as she could see those arrogant blue eyes and the quirk of those equally arrogant lips without being seen herself. She was new and people were interested, many have already heard of her history and more than a few were fans. She didn't care about it, and her carelessness made her popular, aloof, and much admired. She was, as she had dubbed herself jokingly one evening as the piano music Ten'ou Haruka played danced in the background, "a closest Ten'ou Haruka fan-girl". The idea was nicely silly, and strangely, it did not disgust her in any way in its normality, instead it made her glad. She broke into a smile in the middle of one of her schoolmate's conversation with her when her mind had unexpectedly arrived at the conclusion that she really did like the blonde, to the point in which it could be called a crush. Ah, but the history between them was far richer and deeper than any of those frivolous feelings could hold.

Bedazzled by the beauty so rarely seen gracing the "Ice Queen"'s face, as some had already come to call her behind her back, her classmate was truly enchanted by the heartfelt smile on her face. The girl had gushed and half-swooned before Michiru amusedly left the young girl by the side of the stage.

Sometimes, when she was on her own, she indulged herself in the scenario of actually being with Ten'ou Haruka. What would it be like to ride in that yellow Convertable she saw the blonde drive away in with one girl or another, every week? How would it feel with the wind blowing in her hair and having those arrogant, blue-eyes turn to her with a comfortable smile? How would it feel to have her fingers run themselves through the disheveled blonde locks? Would it be like silk or satin, or a combination of both if she could do so freely, running her fingers lovingly through the strands? They were from two different worlds, she acknowledged, but could not help but be intrigued. It would not do for her image if she was caught hanging out too much around the music room whenever Haruka was there, nor the track, but one of the girl's on the track team finally caught her in the act one day.

"Michiru!" There was an exclamation of surprise if she had ever heard one.

Somewhat reluctant to turn her eyes from the woman that was seemingly flying down the track, she turned, "Elsa-san," she replied with an elegant bow as Elsa Gray hurriedly complied, remembering her manners.

"What are you doing here?" The girl asked before slyness crept up into her eyes, "You've seen our Champion, eh?" Red-hair bounced as the other turned to the field. "She's something quite amazing, isn't she? I feel, sometimes, that I'm chasing the wind when I run with her." Elsa sounded regretful and sad, almost defeated.

"Like the wind," she echoed quietly as she could not help but look to the figure crossing the finish line first.

"Hey, I see you've got your sketch-pad on you, Michiru!" The girl next to her clapped her hands on her hips, shaking off the moment with a cheerful smile. That one was a bold one, Elsa Gray, she noted with a pleasant smile on her lips at the other's inquiry. Refreshingly innocent, she thought to herself, these are the people I'm protecting with my powers and my duty. And it made her glad that the other was not so formal with her as others were wont to do. "You must be good, especially since I've heard that everything you touch turn to gold, or something equally silly like that."

"I sketch, now and then," she answered absent-mindedly.

"No, no!" Shaking the short, red curls. Elsa laughed heartily, "I meant I saw some of your paintings at your first exhibition a few months back!"

She blushed faintly, unwilling to allow the other to see what exactly it was that she did draw in her sketchbook. "I'm actually looking for a model," she lied, "I was wondering, do you think Ten'ou Haruka-san would be interested?" It was the perfect excuse to take the blonde aside and give her the wand of Sailor Uranus. Somehow, her heart fluttered at the thought of no longer being so utterly alone, and the thought was disturbing because she had never considered herself alone until the thought had come upon her these last few days.

Ten'ou Haruka should be expecting her, she thought. It was the way things were, after all. The wind would have told the ruler of the skies, if those dreams that haunted her did not find the other as well.

Widened grey eyes looked to her, "You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm quite serious," she smiled.

"Well," the spunky girl next to her perked up, "You never know till you ask the woman herself!" And before she could protest, Michiru found herself half dragged in the direction of the track. "Hey," Elsa smiled over her shoulder at her, "thinking of joining the track any time soon? I've seen you run, and you've surprised even me!"

She could only smile regretfully, "It's not really me, Elsa-san," and the other girl shrugged those tanned shoulders in good-natured defeat at her reply. She did not fight the firm grip tugging her along, for it was going to happen sooner or later, and somehow she knew she would never be ready for this moment, just as much as she knew that she would always be waiting for it as well; strange ironies that never populated her life so frequently, until now. "Ten'ou Haruka-san, I've heard of your reputation. You're really great!" Elsa got ahead of her and walked over to Ten'ou Haruka who was zipping up her jacket and concealing whatever curves that might have given her away otherwise when she wasn't running, or near the circuit. "You did amazingly out there today," the redhead commented. And Ten'ou Haruka looked at her as if trying to figure out what Elsa was getting at with a surprisingly honest and open face as the blonde turned to them curiously. Some people cannot tell the difference between people who thinks highly of themselves, pretending to be indifferent praise, and those who just don't care, but it was obvious that Ten'ou Haruka was of the latter rather than the former. "Well, there's someone I'd like you to meet, Haruka-san," as the other stepped back, she could feel those arrogant blue eyes sweep over her form before meeting her own eyes. "Come on, Michiru!" Elsa encouraged as she stepped up next to the redhead.

So free, she thought before she bowed her head politely. "This is Kaiou Michiru," the redhead next to her introduced them pleasantly. "She's very intelligent and a brilliant artist."

Elsa's words faded to the background when their eyes met and she could do nothing but be honest, "You didn't break a sweat out there. I think you were holding back, hm?" she said instead, trying to soften her words with an ill-attempted smile. This was becoming more difficult by the second as her heart pounded in her chest. Ten'ou Haruka wasn't expecting her as she had thought, or if she did, she hid it well. It could mean only one thing, that her presence was unwelcome.

"What do you mean?" Ten'ou Haruka asked, but she could see the awkward stance that was half defensive in the other's attempt to seem careless and uncaring. It would have fooled anyone, except her.

"You can hear the wind calling, can't you?" She continued to smile ever so slightly, amused by the gallant attempt to evade her words at the same time hiding her own disappointment. Shock spread across that face and those blue eyes widened, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"You're strange," Haruka said instead as the other broke eye contact and hefted the duffle bag over one shoulder. "So what do you want of me?"

She shouldn't have been surprised that the other was reluctant. She should have known the wind would to want to run away. So she accepted that perhaps, loneliness was better after all, and tried to smooth out the awkwardness of the moment with her earlier excuse, "Would you be a model for my painting?" She asked hopefully, though she was wise enough to not show her own eagerness.

"Pass!" Haruka shrugged it off with a disinterested tone, but she knew it was her that Ten'ou Haruka was running away from this time. "I don't like that kind of thing," the blonde explained and walked away in that casual grace of a born athlete.

She could not keep the disappointment from escaping into her eyes as she watched the blonde walk away. Perhaps it was better this way, she thought to herself. She didn't want another human-being to share in the nightmares and the burden of Senshi duties anyway, especially not one like Ten'ou Haruka who was never meant to be tied down by anyone or anything. She smiled at Elsa Gray who looked just as disappointed as she had felt moments ago, "Well, I guess she really is as aloof as they say she is." The redhead supplied sympathetically, and for those simple words, she was grateful to the other for trying.

She shook her head in disagreement, "That's her choice. After all, modeling isn't for everyone." There was, perhaps, more meaning in her words than she intended, but it would be highly unlikely Elsa would understand the double meaning. "People like her... running is better for her health."

Ah, all those double entendres. Life for her, she realized, was just about to get more complicated, indeed.

* * *

She had a martini under the arches of the grand windows. Watching the blonde play the piano as she sipped the clear, sour liquid. It was dry and that was what she needed that night as she sat beneath the moon and in the shadows of the candle-lit table. She joined in the applause, just before a voluptuous singer sauntered onto the stage. The other woman swayed seductively, watching Ten'ou Haruka through lidded eyes before shooting a brief, but equally seductive look towards the blonde.

Ten'ou Haruka really did look dashing in the white tuxedo the other sported that night, but she wondered what the blonde would look like with a dark, blue one instead. It would bring out the shine in those arrogant eyes, and the gold of the blonde locks would be more defiant. More dashing, more beautiful, and more of that would only increase the ache in her breast. And she remembered a few weeks before when she had confronted Ten'ou Haruka again about the apocalypse, how her heart had been so determined for one last try by any ways possible. She remembered how happy she was when the blonde said that she was pretty, and how it was so disappointing to be rejected nontheless when the other still refused their destiny of fighting evil together. It was just as well, she had not wanted to bother Ten'ou Haruka again after that, it was her last try at the inevitable, her last stab at ridding herself of her loneliness. In truth, Kaiou Michiru had never been denied of anything in her life, and she very much doubted that there was much that could be denied of her. Oh, but it seemed that the one thing that mattered to her heart the most turned out to be something that she could not obtain on her own. Instead, as much as it frustrated her, she was almost... glad that it was so.

It was pleasant irony, she told herself as she sipped her martini. Her ultimate happiness no longer took just one person, herself, but the cooperation of two. Had she been anyone else, she might have cursed the gods above for such things of fate, but instead, she contended herself to watch and sip her bitter, sour drink.

Life, it seemed, was not about to get any sweeter.

But, for as long as she could watch Ten'ou Haruka and pretend... pretend that she was in a yellow Convertable with the music playing on the radio and the wind roaring as they traveled down the highway by the sea, together, life was decidedly more bearable. And hungrily she devoured what her eyes and ears could give her, unashamed of her new passion as her fingers lightly tapped against the white table cloth while memorizing the lines on the blonde's face as surely as she had never done so with her own. She knew those lines and shadows quite well by now, and it helped her with the portraits she had already done of the other in secret.

She set the bills on the table at the end of the night, and went on with her life that others deemed to be perfect. There was no need to hide the deep, white scratches on the back of the violin case in her hand, nor the intricate, cruel, black thorns creeping up those wooden sides. No one would have noticed those little imperfections anyway, too fascinated by the rosy color, and the dark-blue velvet lining -- a color like the ocean at midnight, under a large, white moon that outshone the stars. And if not by the case, they would have been distracted by the case's seemingly perfect owner, who was famous in her own right.

Only this time, when she went home to her empty apartment, she left the case open to reveal that there was really nothing inside. The violin rested on the stand, with the music hidden in the strings, instead of in its beautiful and empty coffin. She discarded her childhood fascinations, her strange new obsessions with the unattainable, and instead, played sensuous music under the milky moon and the envious stars with only red and black to color into her mind. She played well past midnight before going to bed and into the embrace of terrible nightmares about the end of the world and unending destruction. Maybe she'll paint another vision tomorrow, this time with the Messiah at the center of it all. But she made sure that she went to bed exhausted so she didn't have to think about her terrible loneliness as well.

The next day, she would go to the Circuit and watch Ten'ou Haruka race, as she was used to doing after all this time in the shadows. She knew that she would probably lean on the poles holding up the empty bleachers, and there, she could indulge her imagination with what ifs before whispering an unheard goodbye to the wind.

In her mind, she can only imagine what it might have been like to have those skilled, long fingered hands ran over her with the same precision as the blonde did everything with. She wanted to dream about those arrogant blue eyes, looking at her with love instead of fear. But black and red soon came as they did more and more frequently now, covering all else with the terrible, passionate colors of fear and hopelessness.

And the case remained open in the darkness, discarded. Like the cocoon of some beautiful caterpillar, more beautiful than any before, that had become an enchanting butterfly.

The blue-velvet was black in the darkness, like an ocean that had pulled back to reveal the deep, bottomless, emptiness it had once filled. But no one would notice but the butterfly that had left her cocoon behind for what it was. Cruel, black thorns still ran up the sides, and deep, white scratches of imperfection was still there on the back of the case, except that nobody knew that the butterfly bore those same marks in her soul and barbed those same wounds into the music she played and danced to in the light of the sun and the moon. No one took notice in those things, because her pain was as beautiful as she, and they were more than willing to be bedazzled by what they saw in her haunted eyes and cold, lost smile. In so doing, her audience were unable to grasp the truth of what she was, nor did they take note of the poison she possessed.

It would be sunlight soon, and she would wake, cold and hungry like any other human being. She would close the case after putting the violin inside it as a substitute for the emptiness inside, hiding the truth from all but herself. The black would turn blue again under the sunlight, as if it had never knew a different shade, and things would return to routine.

Let the music be her wings, the morning wind whispered along her windowpanes. It would be for one more night before this great and terrible sadness that the ocean hides inside those unknown depth finally be revealed. One more night before destiny bedazzle the wind into seeing that enchanting beauty, one that will make even Ten'ou Haruka miss the black thorns creeping up the sides of that mahogany case and the deep, white scratches on its back and in the soul of its perfectly beautiful owner and the future she had to offer.

One more night before the imperfection of black and red, of chaos and destruction, bound them all for eternity with cruelty, deep and dark, of a perfect future...

"Perfection is a mask, a shell. The more of it you see, the less of it there is."

-- Kaiou Michiru

.The End.

. blue . ( blueweber@hotmail.com )

I was quite inspired by Alan Harnum's writings in the Utena fanfic section. This guy's writing really is amazing, and he impressed me so much that I just had to go write something equally dark -- which I haven't been doing for awhile. (GAH! I've been going WAFFy... well... as waffy as it gets for me since I've been writting WAY dramatic stuff since Sheep is a very harsh story). I definitely wanted to try something similar to Harnum's style, but the depth and darkness I wanted to portray... just didn't fit any of the InnerS. I needed a little more darkness in it, a little less emotion and a lot more... I don't know... foreboding. I went through the InnerS, before going to the OuterS. I thought about Hotaru -- she'll be coming along soon enough -- but I thought, Michiru's a pretty flat character from many people's point of view. She's "too perfect" as I've seen more than a few SM fans describes her. But I really am fascinated by Michiru, and I thought she would be the perfect centerpiece for this experimental fic. I was going to use Hotaru, but when the violin case came up in the first sentence, and it was decided for me. I don't feel up to writing about Mistress Nine just yet, but I will... oh and boy would it be fun! The fic was going through mostly narrative without either good or evil, I would have planted action, but it didn't feel... well... right. So I kept to the flow of things instead of trying to change how it was going as I typed it. The ending's a bit dark simply because I really wanted the dark tone to be always there, that's why the story is somewhat "plain", so to speak, but I really didn't want "And then they met and completed each other, and lived happily ever after... blah blah blah." It was fun. I hoped I gave Michiru some character. This fic was REALLY amazing to write, I had a good time doing it. One of the best advices I was given when I was reading Harnum's piece was that to write a character you have to think, what were they thinking? So I sat down and thought (and even at one point, tried to become, Michiru). Michiru might be thinking this when this happened, and this is what probably shaped her to become like this, etc, etc. was what I was feeding my imagination as I did this bit. I hoped you had just as much fun reading it and I hope I kept our Michiru in character. I noted that in the anime, she's a bit more sly and cunning, and this piece portrayed her as uninterested with the happenings of her own life, but I don't believe Michiru would ever really be into the whole fame or fortune thing. I don't really feel like going into detail about it, but one thing I do note in the anime. Michiru's a lot more "passionate" than she might seem in this fanfic, but I want to show that she's not really meant to be ordinary - that being so bores her - and that Haruka is the one who can really bring the passion out of her. However, the stairway incident, I don't think Michiru really meant it when she said THAT passionately about being a violinist (this is only my interpretation for my fanfic). After all, when Haruka mentioned it later, she had looked away. Hey, she could have meant it, but in this story, she's allowing music to fill a void that wouldn't go away, not because she truly enjoyed playing. It was, somewhat annoying at one point when I had to step out of my world and step into the anime world, but I dealt with it. And yeah, Michiru's a bit young to be drinking a martini at the time, but it fits her image and... Well... there's this rumor about being too young to drink, but we all know it's just a rumor, ne? ^_~ I kept as much Japanese out of this one as possible without seeming like I was just translating words. I stuck with "hm" instead of "right" for "ne", because it sounded awkward for her to say "right" in that sentence. The need to write "ne" was SO overwhelming, but I suppressed those damnable urges! The Hotaru one is probably popping up next week, but it'll be awhile before I post again after that. Life, sadly to say, is a busy, time consuming thing. And I have so much writing to finish online, but I have so much more to do that I'm hardly even in my room nowadays much less sleeping! Well... I go there to sleep, and that's pretty much it. Have no fear though, I'm not finished with Sheep yet, but I need time to get back in the Sheep mode. Alan Harnum's writing, though good, threw me a curve ball. This type of style is TOTALLY wrong for the ending of sheep and I'll have to wait it out, or flush it out of my system before I even touch my old pieces of work. (But I'm going to take advantage of this mood and write some short pieces well I can.) Sheep 10 is also proving difficult, but at least I know what to do now. In all honesty, it might have been done sooner, but my palm-pilot ran out of batteries on me and *poof* my entire outline for 7 - 10 for sheep was gone, the entire outline for all the episodes of Karma - Nengan the Great, was gone! My original story entries were all GONE! *sob, sob* That was a while ago, but every time I think back, I want to cry. Anywho, this is definitely dedicated for my best friend. Think of it... as a REALLY belated birthday present, Katz... and um... it'll have to do till I'm no longer broke and can actually afford to buy you a birthday present ^_^;; A good, non-cheap, birthday present. And I don't care what you say, it'll make me SO happy when I get you the perfect present, and you know it! This is also dedicated to my long time editor, A. L. Campo. I still cannot believe you stuck with me through Sheep this long! You're the best! And since I cannot pay you for your tedious and difficult job of going through my work... here! Think of this as a ... umm... another story for you to edit! ^_^v [hmm.. that didn't come out quite right ^_^;; But just want to let you know you are so DEFINITELY appreciated!] Okay, going, going! Hoped all you readers were entertained! Happy New Years everyone!

-- blue ( blueweber@hotmail.com )

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.